NRLF 


B   M   blS   MOD 


or  THf 
f   UNIVERSITY 

OF 


STOPS 
OF  VARIOUS 
QVILLS 


By  W-D-HOWELLS 

Muflra.ted  by 

Howard 


or  TH 
UN1VEF 

OF 

^ 


YORK 

HARPER  AND  BROTHERS 
MDCCCXCV 


•••'* 

A 


Copyright,  1895,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


X^ble  of  Contents. 


I.  NOVEMBER 
II.  MIDWAY 

III.  TIME 

IV.  FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION 
V.  THE  BEWILDERED  GUEST 

VI.  COMPANY 
VII.  HEREDITY 
VIII.  TWELVE  P.M. 
IX.  CHANGE 
X.  IN  THE  DARK 
XI.  TO-MORROW 
XII.  LIVING 

XIII.  IF 

XIV.  SOLITUDE 
XV.  RESPITE 

XVI.  QUESTION 
XVII.  HOPE 
XVIII.  THE  BURDEN 
XIX.  CALVARY 
XX.  CONSCIENCE 
XXI.  REWARD  AND  PUNISHMENT 
XXII.  SYMPATHY 

XXIII.  STATISTICS 

XXIV.  PARABLE 
XXV.  VISION 

XXVI.  SOCIETY 
XXVII.  GOOD  SOCIETY 
XXVIII.  FRIENDS  AND  FOES 


t5fi509 


XXIX.  SPHINX 

XXX.  MATERIALS  OF  A  STORY 
XXXI.  THE  KING  DINES 
XXXII.  LABOR  AND  CAPITAL 

XXXIII.  EQUALITY 

XXXIV.  JUDGMENT  DAY 
XXXV.  MORTALITY 

XXXVI.  ANOTHER  DAY 
XXXVII.  SOME  ONE  ELSE 
XXXVIII.  LIFE 

XXXIX.  WEATHER-BREEDER 
XL.  PEONAGE 
XLI.  RACE 

XLII.  TEMPERAMENT 
XLIII.  WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT? 


^^^:       Impression 


WEFT  of  leafless  spray 

Woven  fine  against  the  gray 

Of  the  autumnal  day, 
And  blurred  along  those  ghostly  garden  tops 
Clusters  of  berries  crimson  as  the  drops 
That  my  heart  bleeds  when  I  remember 
How  often,  in  how  many  a  far  November, 
Of  childhood  and  my  children's  childhood  I  was 

glad, 

With  the  wild  rapture  of  the  Fall, 
Of  all  the  beauty,  and  of  all 
The  ruin,  now  so  intolerably  sad. 

# 


MIDWAY 


O  blithe  the  birds  sang  in  the  trees, 

The  trees  sang  in  the  wind, 
I  winged  me  with  the  morning  breeze, 
And  left  Care  far  behind. 

But  now  both  birds  and  trees  are  mute 

In  the  hot  hush  of  noon; 
And  I  must  up  and  on  afoot, 

Or  Care  will  catch  me  soon. 


. ;  ti .  A.  H  j^*^ 

or  THF          ^ 

NIVERSlTY  J 

or 


TIME 


O  you  wish  me,  then,  away? 
You  should  rather  bid  me  stay: 
Though  I  seem  so  dull  and  slow, 
Think  before  you  let  me  go! 


Whether  you  entreat  or  spurn 
I  can  nevermore  return: 
Times  shall  come,  and  times  shall  be, 
But  no  other  time  like  me. 

Though  I  move  with  leaden  feet, 
Light  itself  is  not  so  fleet; 
And  before  you  know  me  gone 
Eternity  and  I  are  one. 


# 


; 


c> 


FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION 

I 

NNOCENT  spirits,  bright,  immaculate 

ghosts! 

Why  throng  your  heavenly  hosts, 
As  eager  for  their  birth 
In  this  sad  home  of  death,  this  sorrow-haunted 
earth? 

Beware!  Beware!  Content  you  where  you  are, 
And  shun  this  evil  star, 
Where  we  who  are  doomed  to  die, 
Have  our  brief  being  and  pass,  we  know  not  where 
or  why. 

II 

We  have  not  to  consent  or  to  refuse; 

It  is  not  ours  to  choose: 

We  come  because  we  must, 

We  know  not  by  what  law,  if  unjust  or  if  just. 

The  doom  is  on  us,  as  it  is  on  you, 

That  nothing  can  undo ; 

And  all  in  vain  you  warn: 

As  your  fate  is  to  die,  our  fate  is  to  be  born. 


THE  BEWILDERED  GUEST 

WAS  not  asked  if  I  should  like  to  come. 
I  have  not  seen  my  host  here  since  I 

came, 

Or  had  a  word  of  welcome  in  his  name. 
Some  say  that  we  shall  never  see  him,  and  some 
That  we  shall  see  him  elsewhere,  and  then  know 
Why  we  were  bid.  How  long  I  am  to  stay 
I  have  not  the  least  notion.  None,  they  say, 
Was  ever  told  when  he  should  come  or  go. 
But  every  now  and  then  there  bursts  upon 
The  song  and  mirth  a  lamentable  noise, 
A  sound  of  shrieks  and  sobs,  that  strikes  our  joys 
Dumb  in  our  breasts ;  and  then,  some  one  is  gone. 
They  say  we  meet  him.  None  knows  where  or 

when. 
We  know  we  shall  not  meet  him  here  again. 


or  THF 
UNIVERSITY 


*T5X 

HF          A 

SITY 


COMPANY 


THOUGHT,"  How  terrible,  if  I  were  seen 
Just  as  in  will  and  deed  I  had  always  been! 
And  if  this  were  the  fate  that  I  must  face 
At  the  last  day,and  all  else  were  God's  grace, 
How  must  I  shrink  and  cower  before  them  there, 
Stripped  naked  to  the  soul  and  beggared  bare 
Of  every  rag  of  seeming!"  Then, "Why,  no," 
I  thought,"  Why  should  I,  if  the  rest  are  so?" 


HEREDITY 


|HAT  swollen  paunch  you  are  doomed  to 
bear 

Your  gluttonous  grandsire  used  to  wear; 

That  tongue,  at  once  so  light  and  dull, 
Wagged  in  your  grandam's  empty  skull; 
That  leering  of  the  sensual  eye 
Your  father,  when  he  came  to  die, 
Left  yours  alone;  and  that  cheap  flirt, 
Your  mother,  gave  you  from  the  dirt 
The  simper  which  she  used  upon 
So  many  men  ere  he  was  won. 

Your  vanity  and  greed  and  lust 
Are  each  your  portion  from  the  dust 
Of  those  that  died,  and  from  the  tomb 
Made  you  what  you  must  needs  become. 
I  do  not  hold  you  aught  to  blame 
For  sin  at  second  hand,  and  shame: 
Evil  could  but  from  evil  spring; 
And  yet,  away,  you  charnel  thing! 


CAI  »L 


TWELVE  P.M. 


;et  home  from  some  scene  of  gayety, 
!ay  a  long  dinner,  and  the  laugh  and  joke, 
And  funny  story,  and  tobacco  smoke, 

And  all  the  not  unkindly  fatuousness 
Of  fellow-beings  not  better  and  not  worse 
Than  others  are,  but  gorged  with  course  on 

course, 
And  drenched  with  wine;  and  with  one's 

evening  dress 

To  take  off  one's  perfunctory  smile,  and  be 
Wholly  and  solely  one's  sheer  self  again— 
Is  like  escaping  from  some  dull,  dumb  pain; 
And  in  the  luxury  of  that  relief, 
It  is,  in  certain  sort  and  measure,  as  if 
One  had  put  off  the  body,  and  the  whole 
Illusion  of  life,  and  in  one's  naked  soul 
Confronted  the  eternal  Verity. 


CHANGE 


OMETIMES,  when  after  spirited  debate 
Of  letters  or  affairs,  in  thought  I  go 
Smiling  unto  myself,  and  all  aglow 
With  some  immediate  purpose,  and  elate 
As  if  my  little,  trivial  scheme  were  great, 
And  what  I  would  so  were  already  so: 
Suddenly  I  think  of  her  that  died,  and  know, 
Whatever  friendly  or  unfriendly  fate 

Befall  me  in  my  hope  or  in  my  pride, 
It  is  all  nothing  but  a  mockery, 
And  nothing  can  be  what  it  used  to  be, 

When  I  could  bid  my  happy  life  abide, 
And  build  on  earth  for  perpetuity, 
Then,  in  the  deathless  days  before  she  died. 


IN  THE  DARK 


OW  often,  when  I  wake  from  sleep  at  night, 
I  search  my  consciousness  to  find  the  ill 
That  has  lurked  formlessly  within  it,  still 
Haunting  me  with  a  shadowy  affright; 
And  try  to  seize  it  and  to  know  aright 
Its  vague  proportions,  and  my  frantic  will 
Runs  this  way  and  runs  that  way,  with  a  thrill 
Of  horror,  to  all  things  that  ban  or  blight! 
Then,  when  I  find  all  well,  it  is  as  though 
The  moment  were  some  reef  where  I  had  crept 
From  the  wide  waste  of  danger  and  of  death, 
And  for  a  little  I  might  draw  my  breath 
Before  the  flood  came  up  again,  and  swept 
Over  it,  and  gulfed  me  in  its  deeps  below. 


OF  THF 

!d    UNIVERSITY 


or 


TO-MORROW 


LD  fraud,  I  know  you  in  that  gay  disguise, 
That  air  of  hope,  that  promise  of  surprise: 
Beneath  your  bravery,  as  you  come  this 

way, 

I  see  the  sordid  presence  of  To-day; 
And  I  shall  see  there,  long  ere  you  are  gone, 
All  the  dull  Yesterdays  that  I  have  known. 


THE" 

(    UNIVERSITY 


LIVING 


OW  passionately  I  will  my  life  away 
Which  I  would  give  all  that  I  have  to  stay; 
How  wildly  I  hurry,  for  the  change  I  crave, 
To  hurl  myself  into  the  changeless  gravel 


Or  THF 

"DIVERSITY   J 


IF 


ES,  death  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup, 
And  every  one  that  lives  must  drink  it  up; 
And  yet  between  the  sparkle  at  the  top 
And  the  black  lees  where  lurks  that  bitter 

drop, 

There  swims  enough  good  liquor,  Heaven  knows, 
To  ease  our  hearts  of  all  their  other  woes. 

The  bubbles  rise  in  sunshine  at  the  brim ; 

That  drop  below  is  very  far  and  dim ; 

The  quick  fumes  spread  and  shape  us  such  bright 

dreams 

That  in  the  glad  delirium  it  seems 
As  though  by  some  deft  sleight,  if  so  we  willed, 
That  drop  untasted  might  be  somehow  spilled. 


or  THF 
NIVERS1TY 


OF 


SOLITUDE 


H,  you  cannot  befriend  me,  with  all  your 

love's  tender  persistence! 
In  your  arms'  pitying  clasp  sole  and  re 
mote  I  remain, 
Rapt  as  far  from  help  as  the  last  star's  measureless 

distance, 

Under  the  spell  of  our  life's  innermost  mystery, 
Pain. 


•DIVERSITY  1 

or  J 


RESPITE 


ROWSING,  the  other  afternoon,  I  lay 
In  that  sweet  interlude  that  falls  between 
Waking  and  sleeping,  when  all  being  is 

seen 

Of  one  complexion,  and  the  vague  dreams  play 
Among  the  thoughts,  and  the  thoughts  go  astray 
Among  the  dreams.  My  mother,  who  has  been 
Dead  almost  half  my  life,  appeared  to  lean 
Above  me,  a  boy,  in  a  house  far  away, 
That  once  was  home,  and  all  the  troubled  years 

That  have  been  since  were  as  if  they  were  not. 
The  voices  that  are  hushed  were  in  my  ears, 

The  looks  and  motions  that  I  had  forgot 
Were  in  my  eyes;  and  they  disowned  the  tears 
That  now  again  beneath  their  lids  are  hot. 

# 


or  THF 


I    UNIVERSITY 

X^^ro_RK\^ 


UNIVERSITY   | 


QUESTION 

HALL  it  be  after  the  long  misery 
Of  easeless  pillows,  and  the  waste  of  flesh 
In  sickness,  till  some  worn  and  widening 

mesh 

Frays  out  at  last,  and  lets  the  soul  go  free? 
Or,  shall  some  violent  accident  suddenly 
Dismiss  it,  or  some  black  cloud  in  the  brain 
Lower  till  life  maddens  against  life  amain? 
Where,  in  what  land,  or  on  what  lonely  sea? 
When,  in  the  light  of  what  unrisen  sun? 
Under  what  fatal  planet?  There  is  none 
Can  tell,  or  know  aught  but  that  it  shall  be: 
The  one  thing  certain  which  all  other  things 
Have  taught  my  being  in  its  inmost  springs 
To  feel  the  sole  impossibility. 

# 


or  THF 


V        or 

X^lJlOF 


\ 

f*ITY   ) 


HOPE 


E  sailed  and  sailed  upon  the  desert  sea 
Where  for  whole  days  we  alone  seemed  to 

be. 

At  last  we  saw  a  dim,  vague  line  arise 
Between  the  empty  billows  and  the  skies, 
That  grew  and  grew  until  it  wore  the  shape 
Of  cove  and  inlet,  promontory  and  cape; 
Then  hills  and  valleys,  rivers,  fields,  and  woods, 
Steeples  and  roofs,  and  village  neighborhoods. 
And  then  I  thought/' Sometime  I  shall  embark 
Upon  a  sea  more  desert  and  more  dark 
Than  ever  this  was,  and  between  the  skies 
And  empty  billows  I  shall  see  arise 
Another  world  out  of  that  waste  and  lapse, 
Like  yonder  land.  Perhaps — perhaps — perhaps!" 


* 


«?: 

ft%l\E 

X^£AMl£- 


THE  BURDEN 

WRITHED  beneath  my  bur 
den,  fumed  and  groaned. 
My  burden  that  had  felt  and 
heard  me,  moaned: 

"  You  do  not  know  what  misery  is, 
nor  what 

The  bitterest  part  is  of  our  common 
lot. 

The  strength  I  load  in  you  with  my 
loath  weight, 

My  weakness  would  so  gladly  own 
its  fate. 

Think,once,howmuch  more  dread 
ful  it  must  be 

To  be  the  burden  than  bear  it,  and 
pity  me!" 


* 


THF 

UNIVERSITY 


CALVARY 


F  He  could  doubt  on  His  triumphant  cross, 
How  much  more  I,  in  the  defeat  and  loss 
Of  seeing  all  my  selfish  dreams  fulfilled, 
Of  having  lived  the  very  life  I  willed, 

Of  being  all  that  I  desired  to  be? 

My  God,  my  God!  Why  hast  thou  forsaken  me? 


CONSCIENCE 


UDGE  me  not  as  I  judge  myself,  O  Lord! 

Show  me  some  mercy,  or  I  may  not  live: 
Let  the  good  in  me  go  without  reward; 
Forgive  the  evil  I  must  not  forgivel 


REWARD  AND  PUNISHMENT 

|OU  are  the  best  and  the  worst  of  everything 

you  require. 
If  you  have  looked  on  shame  willingly, 

yours  is  the  shame. 
You  are  the  evil  you  mean,  and  you  are  the  good 

you  desire; 

You  shall  be  for  yourself  both  the  praise  and  the 
blame. 


V<HAH' 

ERS1TY  J 


SYMPATHY 


RIEND,  neighbor,  stranger, 

as  the  case  may  be, 
You  who  are  sitting  in  the 

stall  next  me, 
And  listening  also  to  this  pitiless 

play 
That  says  for  me  all  that  I  would 

not  say, 
And  follows  me,  however  I  wind 

about, 
And  seems  to  turn  my  whole  life 

inside  out: 
1  wonder,  should  I  speak  and  be 

the  first 
To  own  just  where  in  my  soul  it 

hurt  worst, 
And  you  revealed  in  yours  the  spot 

its  flame 
Scorched  fiercest,  if  it  might  not  be 

the  same. 


STATISTICS 


O  many  men,  on  such  a  date  of  May, 
Despaired  and  took  their  hopeless  lives 

away 

In  such  an  area,  year  after  year; 
In  such  another  place,  it  would  appear 
The  assassinations  averaged  so  and  so, 
Through  August  after  August,  scarce  below 
A  given  range;  and  in  another  one, 
March  after  March,  it  seems  there  were  undone 
So  many  women  still  about  the  same, 
With  little  varying  circumstance  in  their  shame; 
Burglaries,  arsons,  thefts,  and  forgeries 
Had  their  own  averages  as  well  as  these; 
And  from  these  figures  science  can  discern 
The  future  in  the  past.  We  but  return 
Upon  our  steps,  although  they  seem  so  free. 
The  thing  that  has  been  is  that  which  shall  be. 


Dark  prophet,  yes!  But  still  somehow  the  round 
Is  spiral,  and  the  race's  feet  have  found 
The  path  rise  under  them  which  they  have  trod. 
Your  facts  are  facts,  yet  somewhere  there  is  God. 


PARABLE 


HE  young  man  who  had 
great  possessions  dreamed 

That  once  again  he  came  to 
Christ  and  seemed 
To  hear  Him  making  answer  as 

before, 
"Sell  all  thou  hast  and  give  unto 

the  poor, 
And  come  and  follow  me."  And 

now  he  did 
In  all  immediately  as  Jesus  bid. 


Then  some  of  them  to  whom  he 

gave  his  wealth 
Mocked  at  him  for  a  fool  or  mad,by 

stealth 
Or  openly;  and  others  he  could 

see 
Wasting  his  substance  with  a 

spendthrift  glee; 


And  others  yet  were  tempted,  and  drawn  in 
The  ways  of  sin  that  had  not  dreamed  of  sin: 
Others,  besides,  that  took  were  robbed  and  killed: 
Some  that  had  toiled  their  whole  lives  were  un 
willed 

By  riches,  and  began  the  life  accurst 
Of  idleness,  like  rich  men  from  the  first. 
Some  hid  his  money  in  the  earth,  a  root 
From  which  should  grow  a  flower  of  deadly  fruit; 
Some  kept,  and  put  it  out  at  usury, 
And  made  men  slaves  with  it  that  had  been  free. 

The  young  man's  dream  was  broken  with  his 

grief, 

And  he  awoke  to  his  immense  relief, 
And  wept  for  joy,  and  cried,"  He  could  not  know 
What  dire  results  from  His  behests  would  flow! 
I  must  not  follow  Him,  but  I  can  fulfil 
The  spirit,  if  not  the  letter,  of  His  will. 


Seeing  the  things  I  have  been  shown  in  sleep, 
I  realize  how  much  better  'twere  to  keep 
The  means  that  Providence  has  bestowed  on  me, 
Doubtless  for  some  wise  purpose,  and  to  be 
The  humble  agency  and  instrument 
Of  good  to  others  not  intelligent 
Enough  to  use  the  gifts  of  God  aright." 
He  rose  up  with  a  heart  at  peace,  and  light; 
And  thenceforth  none  of  the  Deserving  Poor 
Ever  went  empty-handed  from  his  door. 


VISION 


ITHIN  a  poor  man's  squalid  home  I  stood: 
The  one  bare  chamber,  where  his  work- 
worn  wife 
Above  the  stove  and  wash-tub  passed  her 

life, 
Next  the  sty  where  they  slept  with  all  their  brood. 

But  I  saw  not  that  sunless,  breathless  lair, 
The  chamber's  sagging  roof  and  reeking  floor; 
The  smeared  walls,  broken  sash,  and  battered 
door; 

The  foulness  and  forlornness  everywhere. 

I  saw  a  great  house  with  the  portals  wide 
Upon  a  banquet  room,  and,  from  without, 
The  guests  descending  in  a  brilliant  line 
By  the  stair's  statued  niches,  and  beside 
The  loveliest  of  the  gemmed  and  silken  rout 
The  poor  man's  landlord  leading  down  to 
dine. 

* 


SOCIETY 


LOOKED  and  saw  a  splendid  pageantry 
Of  beautiful  women  and  of  lordly  men, 
Taking  their  pleasure  in  a  flowery  plain, 
Where  poppies  and  the  red  anemone, 
And  many  another  leaf  of  cramoisy, 
Flickered  about  their  feet,  and  gave  their  stain 
To  heels  of  iron  or  satin,  and  the  grain 
Of  silken  garments  floating  far  and  free, 
As  in  the  dance  they  wove  themselves,  or  strayed 
By  twos  together,  or  lightly  smiled  and  bowed, 
Or  curtseyed  to  each  other,  or  else  played 
At  games  of  mirth  and  pastime,  unafraid 
In  their  delight;  and  all  so  high  and  proud 
They  seemed  scarce  of  the  earth  whereon  they 
trod. 


I  looked  again  and  saw  that  flowery  space 
Stirring,  as  if  alive,  beneath  the  tread 
That  rested  now  upon  an  old  man's  head 

And  now  upon  a  baby's  gasping  face, 

Or  mother's  bosom,  or  the  rounded  grace 
Of  a  girl's  throat;  and  what  had  seemed  the  red 
Of  flowers  was  blood,  in  gouts  and  gushes  shed 

From  hearts  that  broke  under  that  frolic  pace. 

And  now  and  then  from  out  the  dreadful  floor 
An  arm  or  brow  was  lifted  from  the  rest, 

As  if  to  strike  in  madness,  or  implore 

For  mercy;  and  anon  some  suffering  breast 
Heaved  from  the  mass  and  sank;  and  as  before 

The  revellers  above  them  thronged  and  prest. 


or  THF 
1    UNIVERSITY   ) 

OF 


GOOD  SOCIETY 


ES,  I  suppose  it  is  well  to  make  some  sort  of 

exclusion, 
Well  to  put  up  the  bars,  under  whatever 

pretence; 

Only  be  careful,  be  very  careful,  lest  in  the  con 
fusion 

You  should  shut  yourself  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  fence. 


FRIENDS  AND  FOES 


ITTER  the  things  one's  enemies  will  say 
Against  one  sometimes  when  one  is  away, 
But  of  a  bitterness  far  more  intense 
The  things  one's  friends  will  say  in  one's 
defence. 


t?  L<  ^  u    " 

V         r  THE 


SPHINX 


E  who  are  nothing  but  self,  and  have  no 

manner  of  being 
Save  in  the  sense  of  self,  still  have  no 

other  delight 

Like  the  relief  that  comes  with  the  blessed  obliv 
ion  freeing 

Self  from  self  in  the  deep  sleep  of  some  dream 
less  night. 

Losing  alone  is  finding;  the  best  of  being  is  ceas 
ing 
Now  and  again  to  be.  Then  at  the  end  of  this 

strife, 

That  which  comes,  if  we  will  it  or  not,  for  our  re 
leasing, 
Is  it  eternal  death,  or  is  it  infinite  life? 

* 


MATERIALS  OF  A  STORY 


MET  a  friend  of  mine  the  other  day 
Upon  the  platform  of  a  West  End  car; 
We  shook  hands,  and  my  friend  began 

to  say 

Quickly,  as  if  he  were  not  going  far, 
"  Last  summer  something  rather  in  your  way 
Came  to  my  knowledge.  I  was  asked  to  see 
A  young  man  who  had  come  to  talk  with  me 
Because  I  was  a  clergyman;  and  he 
Told  me  at  once  that  he  had  served  his  time 
In  the  state-prison  for  a  heinous  crime, 
And  was  just  out.  He  had  no  friends,  or  none 
To  speak  of;  and  he  seemed  far  gone 


or  THF 
UNIVERSITY  ) 


With  a  bad  cough.  He  said  he  had  not  done 
The  thing.  They  all  say  that.  You  cannot  tell. 
He  might  not  have  been  guilty  of  it.  Well, 
What  he  now  wanted  was  some  place  to  stay, 
And  work  that  he  could  do.  I  managed  it 
With  no  great  trouble.  And  then,  there  began 
The  strangest  thing  I  ever  knew.  The  man, 
Who  showed  no  other  signs  of  a  weak  wit, 
Was  hardly  settled  in  his  place  a  week 
When  he  came  round  to  see  me,  and  to  speak 
About  his  lodging.  What  the  matter  was 
He  could  not  say,  or  would  not  tell  the  cause, 
But  he  must  leave  that  place;  he  could  not  bear 
To  stay.  I  found  another  room,  but  there 
After  another  week  he  could  not  stay. 
Again  I  placed  him,  and  he  came  to  say 
At  the  week's  end  that  he  must  go  away. 
So  it  went  on,  week  after  week,  and  then 
At  last  I  made  him  tell  me.  It  appears 
That  his  imprisonment  of  fifteen  years 
Had  worn  so  deep  into  the  wretch's  brain 
That  any  place  he  happened  to  remain 
Longer  than  one  day  in  began  to  seem 
His  prison  and  all  over  again  to  him ; 
And  when  the  thing  had  got  into  this  shape, 
He  was  quite  frantic  till  he  could  escape. 
Curious,  was  not  it?  And  tragical." 
"Tragical?  I  believe  you!  Was  that  all? 


What  has  become  of  him?"  "Oh,  he  is  dead. 
I  told  some  people  of  him,  and  we  made 
A  decent  funeral  for  him.  At  the  end 
It  came  out  that  his  mother  was  alive — 
An  outcast — and  she  asked  our  leave  to  attend 
The  ceremony,  and  then  asked  us  to  give 
The  silver  coffin  plate,  carved  with  his  name, 
And  the  flowers,  to  her."  "That  was  touching. 

She 

Had  some  good  left  her  in  her  infamy." 
"Why,  I  don't  know!  I  think  she  sold  the  things, 
Together  with  a  neck-pin  and  some  rings 
That  he  had  left,  and  drank. . . .  But  as  to  blame. . . . 
Good-morning  to  you!"  and  my  friend  stepped 

down 
At  the  street  crossing.  I  went  on  up  town. 


or  THF 


>':'}Xti\bl 


THE  KING  DINES 

Impression 

WO  people  on  a  bench  in  Boston  Com 
mon, 

An  ordinary  laboring  man  and  woman, 
Seated  together, 
In  the  November  weather 
Slit  with  a  thin,  keen  rain; 
The  woman's  mouth  purple  with  cold  and  pain, 
And  her  eyes  fixed  as  if  they  did  not  see 
The  passers  trooping  by  continually, 
Smearing  the  elm  leaves  underfoot  that  fall 
Before  her  on  the  miry  mall; 
The  man  feeding  out  of  the  newspaper 
Wrapped  round  the  broken  victuals  brought 

with  her, 

And  gnawing  at  a  bent  bone  like  a  dog, 
Following  its  curve  hungrily  with  his  teeth, 
And  his  head  twisted  sidewise;  and  beneath 
His  reeking  boots  the  mud,  and  the  gray  fog 
Fathomless  over  him,  and  all  the  gloom 
Of  the  day  round  him  for  his  dining-room. 


LABOR  AND  CAPITAL 

Impression 

SPITEFUL  snow  spit  through  the  bitter 

day 

In  little  stinging  pellets  gray, 
And  crackling  on  the  frozen  street 
About  the  iron  feet, 
Broad  stamped  in  massy  shoes 
Sharpened  and  corked  for  winter  use, 
Of  the  huge  Norman  horses  plump  and  round, 
In  burnished  brass  and  shining  leather  bound, 
Dragging  each  heavy  fetlock  like  a  mane, 
And  shaking  as  they  pull  the  ponderous  wain 
With  wheels  that  jar  the  ground 
In  a  small  earthquake,  where  they  jolt  and  grind, 
And  leave  a  span-wide  track  behind: 


And  hunched  upon  the  load 

Above  the  Company's  horses  like  a  toad, 

All  hugged  together 

Against  the  pitiless  weather, 

In  an  old  cardigan  jacket  and  a  cap 

Of  mangy  fur, 

And  a  frayed  comforter 

Around  his  stiffened  chin,  too  scant  to  wrap 

His  purple  ears, 

And  in  his  blinking  eyes  what  had  been  tears, 

But  that  they  seemed  to  have  frozen  there  ere 

they  ran, 
The  Company's  man. 


EQUALITY 


HE  beautiful  dancing-women  wove  their 

maze, 
With  many  a  swift  lascivious  leer  and 

lure 

For  the  hot  theatre,  whose  myriad  gaze 
Burned  on  their  shamelessness  with  eyes  im 
pure. 

Then  one  that  watched  unseen  among  them — 

dread, 

Mystical,  ineffable  of  presence — said, 
"  Patience!  And  leave  me  these  poor  wanton  ones: 
Soon  they  shall  lie  as  meek  and  cold  as  nuns; 
And  you  that  hire  them  here  to  tempt  your  lust 
Shall  be  as  all  the  saints  are,  in  the  dust." 


JUDGMENT  DAY 


EFORE  Him  weltered  like  a  shoreless  sea 
The  souls  of  them  that  had  not  sought  to  be, 
With  all  their  guilt  upon  them,  and  they 

cried, 

They  that  had  sinned  from  hate  and  lust  and  pride, 
'Thou  that  didst  make  us  what  we  might  become, 
Judge  us!"  The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  was  dumb; 
But  high  above  them,  in  His  sovereign  place, 
He  lifted  up  the  pity  of  His  face. 


# 


;-% 


MORTALITY 

OW  many  times  have  I  lain  down  at  night, 

And  longed  to  fall  into  that  gulf  of  sleep 

Whose  dreamless  deep 

Is  haunted  by  no  memory  of 
The  weary  world  above; 
And  thought  myself  most  miserable  that  I 
Must  impotently  lie 
So  long  upon  the  brink 
Without  the  power  to  sink. 
Into  that  nothingness,  and  neither  feel  nor  think! 

How  many  times,  when  day  brought  back  the 

light 

After  the  merciful  oblivion 
Of  such  unbroken  slumber, 
And  once  again  began  to  cumber 
My  soul  with  her  forgotten  cares  and  sorrows, 
And  show  in  long  perspective  the  gray  morrows, 
Stretching  monotonously  on, 
Forever  narrowing  but  never  done, 
Have  I  not  loathed  to  live  again  and  said, 
It  would  have  been  far  better  to  be  dead, 
And  yet  somehow,  I  know  not  why, 
Remained  afraid  to  die! 


ANOTHER  DAY 


NOTHER  day,  and  with  it  that  brute  joy, 
Or  that  prophetic  rapture  of  the  boy 
Whom  every  morning  brings  as  glad  a 

breath 
As  if  it  dawned  upon  the  end  of  death! 

All  other  days  have  run  the  common  course, 
And  left  me  at  their  going  neither  worse 
Nor  better  for  them;  only,  a  little  older, 
A  little  sadder,  and  a  little  colder. 

But  this,  it  seems  as  if  this  day  might  be 
The  day  I  somehow  always  thought  to  see, 
And  that  should  come  to  bless  me  past  the  scope 
And  measure  of  my  farthest-reaching  hope. 


To-day,  maybe,  the  things  that  were  concealed 
Before  the  first  day  was,  shall  be  revealed, 
The  riddle  of  our  misery  shall  be  read, 
And  it  be  clear  whether  the  dead  are  dead. 

Before  this  sun  shall  sink  into  the  west 
The  tired  earth  may  have  fallen  on  his  breast, 
And  into  heaven  the  world  have  passed  away. . 
At  any  rate,  it  is  another  day! 


SOME  ONE  ELSE 


IVE  my  life  over?  I  would  rather  not. 
Though  I  could  choose,  perhaps,  a  fairer 

lot, 

I  cannot  hope  I  should  be  worthier  it, 
Or  wiser  by  experience  any  whit. 
Being  what  I  am,  I  should  but  do  once  more 
The  things  that  brought  me  grief  and  shame 

before. 

But  I  should  really  fancy  trying  again 
For  some  one  else  who  had  lived  once  in  vain: 
Somehow  another's  erring  life  allures; 
And  were  I  you,  I  might  improve  on  yours. 


* 


LIFE 

NCE  a  thronged  thoroughfare  that  wound 

afar 
By  shining  streams,  and  waving  fields  and 

woods, 

And  festal  cities  and  sweet  solitudes, 
All  whither,  onward  to  the  utmost  star: 

Now  a  blind  alley,  lurking  by  the  shore 
Of  stagnant  ditches,  walled  with  reeking  crags, 
Where  one  old  heavy-hearted  vagrant  lags, 
Footsore,  at  nightfall  limping  to  Death's  door. 


WEATHER-BREEDER 


H,  not  to  know  that  such  a  happiness 
To  be  wished  greater  were  to  be  made  less 
That  one  drop  more  must  make  it  spill  in 

tears 

Of  agony  that  blisters  and  that  sears; 
That  the  supreme  perfection  of  thy  bliss 
Alone  could  mother  misery  like  thisl 


PEONAGE 


OW  tired  the  Recording  Angel  must  begin 
To  be  of  setting  down  the  same  old  sin, 
The  same  old  folly,  year  out  and  year  in, 
Since  I  knew  how  to  err,  against  my  name! 

It  makes  me  sick  at  heart  and  sore  with  shame 

To  think  of  that  monotony  of  blame, 

For  things  I  fancied  once  that  I  should  be 

Quits  with  in  doing;  but  at  last  I  see 

All  that  I  did  became  a  part  of  me, 

And  cannot  be  put  from  me,  but  must  still 

Remain  a  potent  will  within  my  will, 

Holding  me  debtor,  while  I  live,  to  ill. 


# 


RACE 


HAVE  me  here  those  looks  of  yours! 
All  those  pretty  airs  and  lures: 
Flush  of  cheek  and  flash  of  eye; 
Your  lips'  smile  and  their  deep  dye; 

Gleam  of  the  white  teeth  within; 

Dimple  of  the  cloven  chin; 

All  the  sunshine  that  you  wear 

In  the  summer  of  your  hair; 

All  the  morning  of  your  face; 

All  your  figure's  wilding  grace; 

The  flower-pose  of  your  head,  the  light 

Flutter  of  your  footsteps"  flight: 

I  own  all,  and  that  glad  heart 

I  must  claim  ere  you  depart. 


Go,  yet  go  not  unconsoled! 
Sometime,  after  you  are  old, 
You  shall  come,  and  I  will  take 
From  your  brow  the  sullen  ache, 
From  your  eyes  the  twilight  gaze 
Darkening  upon  winter  days, 
From  your  feet  their  palsy  pace, 
And  the  wrinkles  from  your  face, 
From  your  locks  the  snow;  the  droop 
Of  your  head,  your  worn  frame's  stoop, 
And  that  withered  smile  within 
The  kissing  of  the  nose  and  chin: 
I  own  all,  and  that  sad  heart 
I  will  claim  ere  you  depart. 


I  am  Race,  and  both  are  mine, 
Mortal  Age  and  Youth  divine: 
Mine  to  grant,  but  not  in  fee; 
Both  again  revert  to  me 
From  each  that  lives,  that  I  may  give 
Unto  each  that  yet  shall  live. 


TEMPERAMENT 


HERE  love  and  hate,  honor  and  infamy, 
Change  and  dissolve  away,  and  cease 

to  be; 

Where  good  and  evil  in  effect  are  one 
In  the  long  tale  of  years  beneath  the  sun; 
Where  like  the  face  a  man  sees  in  a  glass 
And  turns  from,  character  itself  shall  pass- 
Out  of  the  mystery  whence  we  came  we  bring 
One  thing  that  is  the  one  immutable  thing, 
Through  which  we  fashion  all  that  we  do  here, 
Which  is  the  body  of  our  hope  and  fear, 
The  form  of  all  we  feel  and  all  we  know, 
The  color  of  our  weal  and  of  our  woe, 
And  which  alone,  it  may  be,  we  shall  bear 
Back  to  that  mystery  when  we  go  there. 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT? 


F  I  lay  waste  and  wither  up  with  doubt 
The  blessed  fields  of  heaven  where  once 

my  faith 

Possessed  itself  serenely  safe  from  death; 
If  I  deny  the  things  past  finding  out; 
Or  if  I  orphan  my  own  soul  of  One 
That  seemed  a  Father,  and  make  void  the  place 
Within  me  where  He  dwelt  in  power  and  grace, 
What  do  I  gain  by  that  I  have  undone? 


o    rue 
UNIVERSITY 

'  r 


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